


whip-cracked

by akissontitan



Category: Critical Role
Genre: Beau is a valid dumbass, Consentual Voyeurism, Established Relationship, F/F, Masturbation, Sneaky getting off, Trans Female Character, necrotic shroud is horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akissontitan/pseuds/akissontitan
Summary: The appearance of her in the light is a lot to take in; the lengths of her hair all darker grey, her eyes like a raven's, or a demon.None of it makes Beau less hard. None of it makes her want to stop, unless Yasha wants her to stop, and she's looking down at Beau like she's not entirely repulsed, which is good probably.





	whip-cracked

**Author's Note:**

> I've missed writing a true Dumb Ass Bitch.... it's so fun and relatable
> 
> Anywayz Beau is a trans woman in this and every thing I write. It's all in pretty vague terms, which I've considered carefully, but tread with caution if you're a transfeminine person yourself. I love you!!

"I'll be the big spoon!" Beau declares, loud and cocky like an idiot. Yasha huffs a breath of laughter as she slips her breast bindings down from under her tunic, stepping out of the bandages delicately.

"That's fine," Yasha answers, though Beau barely hears her with how hard she's trying to not focus on the outlines of her nipples peaking through the linen, "so long as you don't snore in my ear."

Beau grins, and shucks off her own clothes at record speed, actually eager to settle into bed for once. Not including when it's for sex, obviously, but Yasha hasn't given her many signs about _that_ yet. And yeah, maybe the possibility of a future in which she gets to bury her head between those thighs for hours is on her mind slightly more often than appropriate, but whatever. Just falling asleep together is good too. _Great_ , actually.

Once they're both settled into the rather shitty, under-stuffed inn bed, Beau starts to feel the efforts of the day catching up with her. Between the hours on horseback and Molly's _never-ending_ travel game of fuck-marry-kill (fuck Guinevere, kill Oskar, kill Taryon too, obviously), her body aches with strain and untempered energy all at once. It's easy to curl around Yasha's back, legs intertwined, and let the other woman's slowing breaths calm her into rest.

It's still dark when Beau wakes; not even the faint blue light of early morning, but _real_ dark, and quiet as the witching hour. The stillness is everywhere but in her own blood, where she feels manic and sore, and it takes her a dazed moment to realise that she's gotten hard against the plush curve of Yasha's ass. 

The buzz in her veins redoubles at that, makes her hands go rigid where they've come to rest, one around Yasha's middle, and the other stuck under her head, hidden by long, dark hair. She sucks in a deep breath through her teeth, and mouths _you are SO FUCKING STUPID_ as she turns slowly away from Yasha's sleeping form until she's flat on her back, glaring at the ceiling.

After a solid minute of deep breathing, she's still turned on as hell, which probably says… something gross about her, not that she gives a fuck. She gives a fuck about not being weird to Yasha, though, so she struggles her other arm free as subtly as possible, making sure Yasha's head comes to rest gently on the actual pillow. The bed is barely big enough for two, hence the spooning - _stupid dumb fuckin' idea, dummy_ \- so Beau doesn't get very far by wriggling to the other side of it, but that's all she can manage before the ache between her legs pins her down.

The first feeling of friction is ecstasy, just her hand over her linen pants, and if it were any other circumstance, she might even take her time with it, draw herself taut 'til she's gasping. This is a matter of haste, though; they've been officially _a thing_ for weeks but it's still a _delicate_ thing, she doesn't want Yasha waking up and misinterpreting - or even correctly interpreting - her little situation.

Beau brings her fingers to her mouth and then under her waistband, dragging the calloused pads all the way up to the sensitive tip of her. It's fucking _good_ , it's been _days_ since she's been able to do this and it's obvious with how wet she is already, smeared in her pubes and on her skin. She bends her knees off the bed to get a better angle, and something about that and the way her fingertips catch on herself makes her gasp and then groan through gritted teeth.

Before the air is even let out of her lungs, there is a burst of sound and movement like a whip crack, like ship's sails. Beau's heart skips several beats as the dark of the room grows _darker_ , stretches out in wide shadows either side of her, and as her eyes adjust, she realises that the one bare hint of highlight in her vision is Yasha, staring down at her with glossy eyes like wet stone. Her breath feels stolen, like she's been punched in the chest, and her heart beats double with the awareness of being _seen_ , for better or for worse.

Yasha mostly just looks confused. She blinks owlishly down at Beau, and the great shadows flanking her begin to recede just as Beau realises that those were her wings, the same ones she'd seen weeks before on the battlefield. The tiny bit of her that isn't mortified on ninety different planes of existence is almost sad to see them go.

"You startled me… I thought something was attacking you." Yasha's voice is more of a rumble in this form, but somehow no less small, sweet. "That is not the case?"

"Purely self-inflicted." Beau remembers herself after a moment, pulls the sheet up to her waist and manoeuvres herself into a half-sitting position against the headboard. "I'm sorry. That I freaked you out. And probably am still freaking you out. Fuck."

Yasha shakes her head no, shifts to spark a match against the bedside table to light the candle resting on it. And that's a lot for Beau to take in, collectively; the implication that she hasn't completely ruined what she'd started with Yasha, plus now the appearance of her in the light, the lengths of her hair all darker grey, her eyes like a raven's, or a demon.

None of it makes Beau less hard. None of it makes her want to stop, unless Yasha wants her to stop, and she's looking down at Beau like she's not entirely repulsed, which is good probably. Beau rests her palm on her abs, fingertips just grazing the line of her pants, and meets Yasha's gaze. "So. What now?"

Yasha settles herself down on the foot of the bed, and she looks suddenly smaller than a moment before. Her hair has returned to its regular white tips, and her eyes blink back to their mismatched irises after a moment, but Beau stays pressed against the bed, unmoving, like she's still looming over her.

"I don't think I'm ready to participate." Yasha frowns, her words coming out midway between a statement and a question. "But… I'd be lying to say this doesn't appeal to me."

Beau slips her hand under her pants as soon as Yasha says so, finding herself and tugging hard, rubbing frantically against the heat of her palm. Something about being caught, something about Yasha becoming even _bigger_ , even _less_ human, makes her feel like her blood is made of glass shards. Beau spreads her legs further until she can look at Yasha through them, watch the way her pupils go dark when she eyes the wet spot on Beau's pants, and when she gasps. Yasha's knees are together, but Beau knows, she _knows_ , there must be an ache between them, dampness she could soothe with her tongue if she was allowed.

Her toes curl into the sheets when she comes, fucks herself in her calloused hand to the thought of bruising her knees while knelt between Yasha's thighs, of Yasha's big, darkened eyes on her. Of _Yasha_ , perfectly soft and strong and _here_ , watching rapt while Beau embarrasses herself.

After a long, shuddering breath, Beau rubs her palm on the side of the mattress, and lets her exhausted limbs go limp. She only cranes her neck when she feels cool fingers around her wrist, and just manages to focus in time to watch Yasha plant a single, chaste kiss on the fingertips of the hand she'd touched herself with. That's jerk-off material for the rest of her life, Beau thinks, dizzy with it. There's no beating the wildfire feeling shooting through her nerves right now.

Yasha seems to falter after that; she shifts as if to lie down, but then snubs out the candle, and sits atop the sheets on her side of the bed.

"This is probably something we should… _discuss_." Beau can't see her, but she can hear the grimace in her words, and agrees with it wholeheartedly.

"Yeah," Beau manages, voice gone even scratchier from strain, "probably. Not like, right now though, right?"

She watches Yasha's silhouette nod, before moving to lie down. "Later. At some point. After sleep."

"Cool, cool." Beau's heart jackrabbits at the very thought, but it's important, and Yasha is important, so she can probably suffer through it. "After sleep. 'S a date."

Yasha turns towards her, and for a moment Beau thinks she's going to say something, but soon a toned, soft arm slips over her waist, Yasha's belly to Beau's hip. It's easy as hell to turn onto her side and let the warmth of her big spoon seep in through her spine.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me abt the manifestation of the intersection of gender and body in a fantasy world, or abt how dam big yasha is, over on twitter [@ nycreous!!](http://twitter.com/nycreous)
> 
> Comments make me so happy and keep me writing more!! Tell me your favourite line or moment <3


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